Do You Still Remember Me?
by IvySeeker
Summary: Veneziano is still haunted by the past, and he conceals it well from his best friend and ally: Germany. But when Germany is called to the front lines it feels like it's all happening again. Only this time, will Veneziano be able to save the one that he loves the most? Rated M for future graphic depictions of violence.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The last memory that the Holy Roman Empire ever had of Veneziano was the day that they kissed. He had awoken early, wanting to avoid her. Holy Rome had already said his goodbyes, and there was no need to further prolong the pain of leaving. Yet, something inside him was reluctant to go. He found himself carrying the painting that he'd done of her once, even though there wasn't really any space left. It wasn't rational, but it would be the one exception that he allowed himself to have. Then, just as he was about to depart, familiar light footsteps filled his ears. She was there, carrying a bucket full of water. As she ran up the path, the water sloshed over the sides and spilled onto the ground. _Don't do that! _ He thought. _You could slip!_

"Good morning, Holy Rome!" She called, cheerfully, like she would on any other day. The sight of it made his heart twist painfully.

"Stop!" The moment the harsh word left his lips, he regretted it. Veneziano's face crumpled in hurt confusion_, _and the Holy Roman Empire found himself scrambling for anything to say. "Why," He asked, "do you follow me when I run away, even though you run when I follow?"

She tilted her head, "Holy Rome-"

Before Veneziano could say anything else, he found that his mouth started moving on their own accord, "Hey, Italy, there's something I have to tell you." He could feel the blood rushing to his face as she waited expectantly. These were words that he could hardly bring himself to say, but if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Holy Rome took a deep breath, "I'm sorry for everything." He meant it, every word. He was truly sorry for how harsh he'd been, how he couldn't have been nicer to her. The young boy found that he couldn't seem to meet Veneziano's eyes. Perhaps if he had a second chance, he might do things differently. But for all he knew, this would be the last time he ever saw her. "This is goodbye, so don't worry." Maybe if he'd been kinder to her, she wouldn't even have reason to worry.

Veneziano, bless her innocent soul, didn't comprehend. "M-Meaning…?"

"Just what I said," Holy Roman Empire muttered, praying that he wouldn't have to elaborate. This was war, terrible war, and even though he knew Veneziano was no stranger to conflict, he didn't want to explain why she might never see him again. He wanted to be confident, to say that he would be okay, but Holy Rome felt it inside. The boy was intelligent, and he knew that the odds of him surviving this was slim.

The guards saved him from having to answer. "Holy Rome, let's get going." They called to him, and he panicked. There wasn't any more time! But there had to be more- he couldn't leave like this!

"Sure," He said, hiding the sadness from his voice, "Later. Stay healthy." It was a lukewarm farewell at most, distant and unfit even for friends. In her mind, he couldn't help but wonder, was that all they were? When she didn't say anything, he turned to leave, slightly hurt. Holy Rome had barely taken a few steps when he heard Veneziano's voice again.

"Are you really leaving?" The pain he heard was almost enough to make him stop. "No way," She murmured, the dawning realisation causing her words to grow louder. "No way, Holy Rome!" The young boy forced himself to keep going as if he'd never heard her. It would be easier this way, he told himself, quick. _How quickly will she forget me? _ "Wait, wait! What do I do?" Veneziano was agitated, and her voice had started trembling, almost as if she was crying. "Holy Rome!" The desperation pierced his heart, and Holy Roman Empire paused, turning around for one last look. She was holding out her broom to him, saying, "I'll give this to you. Take it, and think of it like you would me."

"A deck brush?" He stuttered, shocked. "Why are you giving that to—" The realisation hit him, and a gasp left his mouth. This was her brush, the one that she always used. The first time he'd seen her, she had been sweeping the floor with this too. "Italy…" He murmured, stepping forward to take the brush from her hands. Despite being used to putting on a strong façade no matter what, the Holy Roman Empire found it a struggle to keep it up this time. "Thanks," The wood of the brush was smooth beneath his hands, worn down by constant use. It felt warm. "I'll accept your feelings." The boy allowed a small, genuine smile to break through that hard disposition; only for her. Dimly, he was aware of the guards behind him murmuring, but they were inconsequential at this moment. He wanted to give something to her, like she gave this to him, But he had nothing left to give. "Then in return…" He trailed off helplessly, "At your house, what do you do with people you like?"

"You kiss them, I guess." Veneziano said, tears still lingering at the corners of her eyes.

"I-I see." The boy blushed. _I've always loved you since the 900s. _ He thought, leaning in slightly. The heartbeat in his ears quickened as his lips met her's, a gentle brush like the touch of a butterfly's wing. When he pulled back, the look on Veneziano's face warmed his heart.

"R-really?"

"Really," He said with conviction, "I'm not lying." This was his last chance to say it, and he had to take it no matter what. And Veneziano smiled, the biggest one that he'd ever seen.

"I'm so glad," She sniffed, and Holy Rome found that he was smiling again.

"Later, Italy._"_ He said, feeling more confident than he had in the past few weeks. "When the war's over, I'll come to see you for sure." This promise would be a hard one to keep, but with the memory of her smile and her kiss in his mind, he would fight harder than he ever had. He was determined to return, determined to see her again. _I have to leave, _he thought. If he stayed any longer, Holy Rome knew that he wouldn't be able to pull himself away. The boy began to walk away, gripping the deck brush tight.

Over the clatter of the horses and the marching of the guards, her voice found his ears again. "I'll wait." She cried, "I'll be waiting- I'll wait with plenty of sweets! And don't get hurt or sick! Let's be sure to meet again!" Her voice was growing fainter now with every step he took. "For sure!" He couldn't help it- The boy pivoted around and flung his arm out in a wide wave, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. _No matter how many years pass, I'll love you the most out of anyone in this world! _He vowed silently, that he was sure of.

After this, the Holy Roman Empire threw himself into a long, long war.

Many, many years had passed since that day, and with each passing battle the Holy Roman Empire found himself growing weaker and weaker. The battlefield was harsh on his fragile body, wracked by many past illnesses; he had never been a very healthy child. Still, he fought on, chasing after the day where he would keep his promise to Veneziano. One night he lay in his tent after a long battle, alone, staring at the deck brush that was propped up against his chest of belongings where the painting lay. The Holy Roman Empire pushed himself off weakly and grasped for her gift to him. Even in the chill of the night, the boy could have sworn that he felt the weak remnants of remembered warmth in the wood, and he fell back against his sleeping bag, clutching it with whatever strength he had left. "I'm sorry, Veneziano," His voice was hoarse and soft, shattered with the knowledge that he would never be able to fulfil his vow to her. A bout of coughing shook his emaciated frame, and he curled on his side, trying to ignore the blood that dribbled down his chin and onto his uniform. He dragged in a wet, ragged breath and tried to sit up again. The painting was in the chest, only a few feet away, but he couldn't reach it. His arms refused to push him up, and dark spots were appearing in his vision. Finally, he gave up and slackened where he was, struggling to keep his grip on the deck brush. "I tried." And then the darkness crept up on him, taking him into its arms like an old friend.


	2. Truth

Chapter One

As the sands shift and the tides change, so a new era comes to pass. Empires fall and countries rise to power, bringing with them a new kinds of wonders and problems.

For Germany, or Ludwig as his closer acquaintances called him, there was one particular problem that refused to leave him alone. He was a battle hardened soldier who could withstand the toughest conditions and the fiercest battles, and yet, this was one situation that he would gladly do away with.

"Germany!"

Ludwig groaned, pausing in his long stride to let the brown haired man catch up. He had to wait a few seconds before his ally- his friend, Italy Veneziano, or Feliciano, appeared by his side. Even though they were the same age, Ludwig's broad stature only made the latter seem younger than he actually was. In the heat of the desert, Feliciano was sweating profusely. "Keep up, Italy," Ludwig growled, reaching for his flask to take a mouthful of water. His brow furrowed in disdain at the bland taste, wishing he had beer instead. At Feliciano's incessant protests, he left it out of their supplies because apparently, it was bad for the body when it came to cold nights. Feliciano was right though, as alcohol thinned the blood and made it easier for someone to get hypothermia if it was chilly enough. Nights in the desert were infamous for being as cold as the day was hot, and that made it a harsh terrain to live in. It also provided for a perfect place for a training exercise- That was what they were doing today.

He took up his pace again, wishing that Kiku hadn't chose this particular day to come down with a slight case of fever. Now he would have no one but Feliciano for company as they made the arduous trek through this desert. Sure, the Italian was nice to have around, but his knowledge of pasta was disappointingly limited, and that made it hard to keep up a decent conversation. _Perhaps I should read up on it when we get back. _ The errant thought darted teasingly past the grasp of his stringent mental guards, and the exasperated furrow on his brow deepened. What was he thinking? He had far too much on his hands to be researching pasta. Perhaps being near Feliciano had dangerous side effects. Speaking of him, he had been suspiciously silent for a while now, and that was never a good sign. Ludwig cast a glance backwards and was surprised momentarily to see that the small man was _drawing, _out of all things! Feliciano's face was unusually focussed as his pencil flew across the page with breath-taking dexterity. The German couldn't help but feel something suspiciously akin to respect as he watched his friend worked. Everyone could see that Feliciano was vapid and careless, but no one would deny that when he set his mind on something, he really did work hard.

Then he saw it. Feliciano's foot had unwittingly tore through a patch of dried brambles, and before Ludwig could call out a warning, the Italian pitched and fell onto the ground with a muffled _thump_. "_Italia!" _ He hurried forward to help his friend up, "Are you alright?" Ludwig felt alarmed when he saw the scratches on Feliciano's face from the coarse sand, and he prayed that that was the only injury he had.

"Germany," Feliciano whimpered, clutching at the larger man's sleeve, "my ankle hurts." Ludwig hastily but carefully brought it forward, supporting the foot with one hand. He prodded it gently, apologising briefly when the Italian let out a small cry.

"It's sprained," He said grimly, "we'll leave it in your boot to stop it from swelling too much. When we stop for the night I'll help you bind it up."

"It hurts too much to walk," Feliciano whined, "can we rest here now?" Ludwig sighed and glanced at their lengthening shadows. It was almost time to stop anyway, so being a little bit early wouldn't hurt.

"Alright, Italy."Straightening, he dropped his bag on the ground and began setting up camp. By the time he was done, the sun was almost gone and whatever light they had came from the small fire that he started a while ago. Feliciano was sitting contentedly on the ground, his injured ankle propped up on his bag. Ludwig set up two mess tins over the white hot ashes and put the water and pasta inside, knowing that this treat would help to cheer Feliciano up. While the Italian was constantly happy and energetic, like a puppy, he was downright miserable when he got hurt- _especially _if the injury hampered his movement in any way. It would make his night pleasanter if Feliciano was in a good mood, and definitely _not_ because he hated seeing him upset. Now that Ludwig was done with the preparations for the night, he could finally sit down for a while as he waited for dinner to cook.

"Germany, I'm bored." Feliciano piped up from his spot, "Play something with me!"

"Like what?" Ludwig grunted, not particularly interested. He hadn't played games since he was a kid with Gilbert. Still, he couldn't say no to those pleading eyes.

The Italian's brown orbs widened with surprise, expecting a flat out refusal. "Really?" He cried happily, "Let's play Truth then. We ask each other questions, and we have to answer honestly. Okay?"

Ludwig sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay. I'll start. What were you drawing just now?" Unexpectedly, Feliciano blushed and looked away. "You're supposed to tell the truth." The German reminded him. Fidgeting, he searched around in his bag until he found the rolled up paper and passed it to Ludwig. He didn't know exactly what to expect, but certainly not a portrait of him. It was drawn from the back with him looking over his shoulder, an exasperated expression on his face. Ludwig was speechless.

"Don't be mad," Feliciano pleaded, "I thought you looked really good from that angle!"

"It's- it's good." Ludwig managed, thankful that the darkness hid the blush that rose to his cheeks. No one had ever done a drawing of him before. He rolled it back up and held it out to Feliciano, but the Italian shook his head.

"If you like it, you can keep it!"

"Really? Okay then- I suppose, if that's what you want." Satisfied with his smile, Ludwig put it away and gestured with a hand towards his friend. "It's your turn to ask a question, Italy."

The brown-haired man broke out into a suspiciously ecstatic grin that made him rethink agreeing to this whole game. "I've always wanted to ask this for a while now," Feliciano murmured, squirming in his spot, "have you ever loved anyone, Germany?

Ludwig blinked, slightly stunned. "N-no, I haven't. What about you?"

"Is that your question?" When the German nodded, Feliciano sighed. "A long time ago, I lived with Austria, remember? There was a boy there too, and his name was Holy Rome_._ I loved him- I still do, but he went away to war and never came back." His lids lowered halfway over his honey coloured eyes, and Ludwig could have sworn that he saw the glimmer of tears reflecting the firelight. The Italian he knew was gone, and had suddenly been replaced by a far more despondent and broken man. That alone scared Ludwig enough for him to quietly place himself next to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders. Feliciano leaned into him and tried to bite back his tears. It was a long time ago, he thought, it wasn't supposed to hurt so much still. Why? Why did his chest still ache when he thought of the boy that'd left him?

"Shh," Ludwig gently stroked Feliciano's hair, whispering something that Gilbert used to soothe him with when he was still a child. The man remembered that in his younger days, he used to have night terrors, and every time he ran into his elder brother's room, Gilbert would take him into his arms and say those words. Remembering those memories made him feel calm, and as he spoke them now, he hoped that Feliciano too would feel better. "Morgen noch besser sein wird."


	3. Always There

Chapter Two

It was mind numbingly hot, and to Ludwig even more so by the heavy load that he carried on his back. Now he was used to trudging along with the weight of a tent and other essentials dragging him down, but carrying a man on top of that? Even now Ludwig wasn't sure how Feliciano had managed to convince him to give the latter a piggyback ride, but it happened. Both of his arms reached behind to support the Italian's bottom, while Feliciano carried both bags on his back with two straps on each shoulder. His thin arms encircled Ludwig's neck tightly to keep himself from falling off even though Ludwig would shoot himself before letting that happen. The blonde was bent over, almost double to make sure that Feliciano wouldn't slide off, knowing that the smaller man's arms wouldn't be able to bear his own weight, let alone that of two bags.

"Germany, I'm sorry." Feliciano whispered guiltily into his friend's ear, "If I hadn't been so careless you wouldn't have to carry me." He could feel Ludwig's perspiration through their clothes, and while the man was pretty strong, the Italian knew that everybody had their limits. It was his fault that Ludwig had to bear his burden, and that surely wasn't an easy one to bear. Of course, it was pretty evident that their strengths differed vastly, so maybe to the German, he wasn't that heavy at all. "But that's fine, right? Because Germany is really strong!"

Ludwig rolled his eyes, possibly for the tenth time that day. "We're almost at the town anyway, and from there it's only a short drive to my place." He stated, lengthening his strides. The tips of his ears turned a ghastly shade of red, but Feliciano didn't seem to notice. When Ludwig was physically exerting himself, he was red all over anyway. The remaining trek took only an hour, much quicker than he had estimated it to be, but that was possibly because he didn't have to constantly stop and wait for Feliciano. Ludwig suspected that the latter might have even taken a short siesta on his back during the journey. Still, the German found that he couldn't bring himself to make his friend walk the distance by himself. Ludwig had accomplished more with far greater injuries, but the man had to remind himself that Feliciano was not as disciplined as he was, so he couldn't really hold them to the same standards. Not many of the others would ever expect Feliciano to be strong, and perhaps that was why Ludwig always felt a need to protect him.

He wanted Feliciano to be stronger, to push himself past his breaking point because there would come a day when he would have to defend himself. Ludwig knew that he wasn't invincible, and that he couldn't always be there to protect Feliciano from the other countries. And even though the very notion of it made him feel an alien uneasiness in his gut, he would have to prepare for that day while he still could. And damn it, he would do a great job of it.

Walking into town with a sleeping man on his back, and looking like he'd just finished a global marathon, was not inconspicuous. Curious stares burnt into Ludwig's neck and made him feel prickly, but the soldier made no show of his discomfort and instead marched through the roads like he was the only one there. Still, he couldn't help but feel relieved as he finally hoisted a sleeping Feliciano into the backseat of his Kubelwagen and propped the brown haired head up on the two packs so that he wouldn't start snoring. Ludwig rolled his shoulders in relief as he slid into the driver's seat, grateful to have the weight off them. Now, there was only a peaceful hour's drive between him and a nice warm shower at home. Perhaps if they had time to spare, he could even make a cake! Smiling lightly at the thought, Ludwig started and engine and eased the vehicle onto the road.

Of course, things hardly ever went the way he planned them out to, especially since Feliciano came into his life.

It was about twenty minutes into the drive when a sleepy voice floated up from behind him. "Ve? Why am I in the back seat?"

"Oh, Italy, you're awake." Ludwig said casually, flicking his steel blue eyes over to the rear view mirror to make sure Feliciano didn't topple the packs or something. Only, instead of seeing a half-awake face, he was met with the side of a boot as the Italian began climbing over the back of the front seat, wanting to get into his usual spot. The Kubelwagen swerved dangerously as Ludwig used a broad shoulder to shove the flailing leg away from his face, trying to see the road. It was a few heart-stopping moments before he got the vehicle under control. "Don't do that!" He roared angrily, firmly fixing his eyes on the road. The other man shrunk back into his seat, frightened by the display of anger.

"Germany, I'm sorry." Feliciano whispered, fidgeting with the hem of his uniform. However, Ludwig ignored him, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. In truth, the German didn't even hear the apology. His mind was still reeling from the accident that they'd just narrowly avoided. They could have crashed, and Feliciano might have been hurt- or worse. _Mein Gott, that's an idiotic way to go, _Ludwig thought furiously, easing on the pedal as he made the turn into another street. But of course, he was always dealing with an idiot when it came to Feliciano. Slowly, bit by bit, his death grip on the steering wheel eased off as he calmed himself down to the point where he could risk another glance back at the Italian. Immediately, he felt bad as he saw Feliciano's guilt-stricken mien. Perhaps he had been too harsh, after all, he hadn't meant any harm.

"It's okay," Ludwig said quietly, "but please don't do it again. It's dangerous."

"You'll forgive me?" Feliciano asked happily, eyes shining. When Ludwig nodded, he bounced forward and threw his arms around the German's broad shoulders, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad," He said dreamily, "I hate it when you get mad at me." In the front, Ludwig gritted his teeth and mentally shook his head at the other man's actions. Driving became ten times more dangerous when it came to Feliciano. Even though they were almost halfway home, Ludwig knew that it was going to be a long journey.

By the time they finally made it back (in one piece), the sun was already beginning to set, and the shadows were lengthening around the house. Feliciano had gone off to shower in his bathroom, completely at home in Ludwig's room by now, leaving the other man to wander around the kitchen with nothing to do but to listen to Feliciano sing in the shower. He couldn't make cake now because he was absolutely grimy, and it was with the greatest reluctance that Ludwig allowed himself to lean against the spotless counter. As if it were mocking him, the phone on the wall rang shrilly the moment he did, and Ludwig heaved a sigh as he strode across the room to pick it up. "Hello? This is Germany speaking."

"West! I'm going out drinking tonight at the bar, want to come?"

The blonde haired man winced at the volume of his brother's voice. "Not now, Gilbert, I just got back from a training exercise and Italy is staying over at my place for the night."

"You can bring him along!"

"No!" Ludwig rejected hastily, remembering what happened the last time Feliciano got drunk. "You're a bad influence on him."

He could practically _hear _Gilbert pouting over the phone when he said, "Aw, you're no fun at all. Fine then, more for me! I'll see you on Wednesday."

"Bye, Gilbert." Ludwig almost hung up, but at the last moment, he remembered something. "Wait! Do you- Have you heard of Holy Rome?"

Gilbert paused, but he replied in the end, "Yes, why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose, not really sure of whether to let his brother in the know. "Italy mentioned him a while ago."

"He's gone, you know? Out of all of us, only Italy can't seem to accept that."

Then the line went dead. Ludwig stared at the phone, wondering why his brother would say such a cryptic thing. Sure it made sense, but he seemed to be hinting at something else, like there was more to the story than he was letting on. Gilbert wasn't one to keep things from him like that, and it unnerved Ludwig. It was okay, Ludwig consoled himself, Gilbert was horrible at keeping secrets. A couple generous rounds of beer and he would be talking. Besides, interrogation was his forte, after all. Only when he surfaced from his thoughts did he realise that the house had gone silent; Feliciano was done with his shower, and it was his turn now. Out of pure habit than anything else, Ludwig barged into his room without much thought, only to freeze when he saw a naked Italian sprawled out on his bed, slumbering away. Now, he was not a stranger to Feliciano's urges to go without clothing, but it was the sight of those long fingers clutching desperately at the sheets and the tears that dusted his eyelashes that made him stop. Pale, taut lips moved soundlessly, or so Ludwig thought until he bent down to shake him awake.

"… do I do?" The words were mumbled, but that didn't make the desperation any less clearer. Ludwig's heart twisted at the pain in his voice, and his large but gentle hand came down on Feliciano's shoulder. It shook the man, stopping only when those lips ceased their movements, and the Italian slowly woke up. "Germany? I was having a bad dream… I think. I can't remember much." Feliciano gripped Ludwig's uniform tightly, burying himself into the larger man's chest. "But I was so scared!" Instinctively, the German's arms encircled his friend, one around the back, and the other smoothing out the frazzled brown hair. "I was alone." Ludwig began to feel a dampness seeping through his shirt, but he didn't say anything. The blonde was too worried to even be annoyed.

"You're not alone now," He soothed, "I'm here." Repeating those words, Ludwig held Feliciano for a long time, a very long time, until the man's shoulders stilled, and his back moved with the slow rise and fall of someone asleep. Maybe now he could sneak away and finish that stack of paperwork that loomed on his desk, yet something made him stay here, curled up on the bed with Feliciano. He couldn't leave yet- what if Feliciano got another nightmare, and he wasn't there to wake him up? _Just a little bit longer, _Ludwig told himself, _maybe half an hour, and I'll go finish the reports. _But soon, he too fell asleep.


	4. For His Sake

Chapter Three

"Italy!" Ludwig roared, "Get your head back into the car now!" His eyes were fixed on the road, but they slid over occasionally to Feliciano just to make sure he was behaving. Currently, a vein had popped out on his forehead from his annoyance.

"But I like having the wind on my face," Feliciano pouted, but he complied anyway, sitting back down properly. Only when he had his seatbelt back on did the German relax a little bit. "You should try it too, it's fun!"

"I'm not a dog." Ludwig grumbled, easing up on the pedal to make a turn. "And neither are you." He added as an afterthought. Relief coursed through his veins as the Kubelwagen pulled into a familiar driveway and finally stopped. Taking Feliciano out in a car was one of the most terrifying, heart stopping and traumatic experiences ever. It was as if the man had no clue just how dangerous it was to fool around on a moving car. Honestly, Ludwig thought that if he had to do it every day, he would go stark raving mad. "We're here." He announced, throwing open his car door and swinging both feet out.

Feliciano cheered and clambered out of the Kubelwagen, only tripping once, and ran up excitedly to the main door. "Austria! Hungary!"The Italian called loudly, waving an arm even though no one had opened the door yet. Ludwig sighed and followed at a more reasonable pace, shoving both hands into his pockets. He didn't really have a particular reason to visit Elizaveta and Roderich, but Ludwig thought that seeing them might cheer Feliciano up a bit. After the nightmare the other day, he didn't quite seem to be his usual self. At that moment, the door was opened to reveal a brown haired woman with a frying pan in hand. Upon seeing them, she smiled cheerfully and said,

"My, my, it's Italy and Germany."She opened the door wider and ushered them inside. "What brings you two here today?"

"Germany brought me to visit," Feliciano chattered happily, making his way through the opulent mansion like he'd never left, "But I think I left some of my pastels and canvasses here from the other time, so I want to go and find them."

"Oh, those," Elizaveta smiled knowingly, gesturing towards the staircase, "I kept them in your old room, and they should still be there."

"Really?" The Italian beamed, "Then I'll go get them now!" and then he was gone in a flash, scampering downstairs. The moment he was out of sight. The cheerful smile fell from Elizaveta's lips, and she turned to Ludwig with a worried frown. Caught off guard by her sudden change in mood, Ludwig almost took a step back.

"What is it?" He asked, keeping most of the anxiety out of his voice.

"Roderichneeds to talk to you," She said and took him by the arm. "He's upstairs now."

"What about Italy?"

Elizaveta smiled reassuring, "He's lived here for most of his childhood. I think he'll be fine." As they got closer to Roderich's room, Ludwig could hear a faint melody growing louder with every stop. It stopped, however, only when Elizaveta knocked on the door. "Germany is here," She announced softly, and a black haired head peeked up from the score in front of him.

"Oh," He murmured, setting aside the sheets of paper and his pen. "Good. Thank you, Elizaveta." There was a soft click that indicated her departure, and Ludwig turned to face him quizzically. Roderich waved a hand at the couch at the side of the room and took a seat there himself, rubbing his temples with his hands. "I take it that you haven't heard?"

"About what?" Ludwig questioned, sitting down to face the man. He had no idea where this was going, but the more than solemn way that Roderich was treating this was giving him some unease. The German liked to be well informed of things, on top of the news, but apparently he had missed out on something.

Roderich leaned in slightly, his silence creating a tension far greater than any playwright could pull off. And when he spoke, his voice was low, "They say that Russia is on the verge of declaring war."

"Impossible," Ludwig jerked backwards in surprise, "no one's declared all-out war in years!" Roderich merely shook his head, keeping silent. Apparently that was all there was to this little bit of news, and there was nothing more that he could add. "Against the Axis? What about the Allies?"

"Rumour is that even the Allies aren't sure of what he's doing." Roderich continued, "It looks like he's working alone." A grim silence befell the two. It wouldn't be as bad as World War II, when the Allies were all against them, but Ivan alone was a truly formidable force. And if he really did declare war, he would be called upon to take part in it, Ludwig knew that. Against his better instincts, he thought of Feliciano. The poor man would not stand a chance against Ivan. Would it be safer to leave him behind then? But then again, Feliciano somehow managed to put himself in danger on a normal day, how would he fare without Ludwig? "You're thinking of Italy aren't you? You've got that look on your face." Ludwig looked away, the tips of his ears colouring pink.

"He's my friend, it's normal for me to worry about him." Ludwig rebuffed Roderich gruffly.

"He's not that weak, you know?" Roderich said, much to Ludwig's surprise. "When he was much younger, before he was at my house, Italyonce defeated Turkey, back when he called himself the Ottoman Empire." Ludwig's blue eyes widened, and his mouth actually slipped open a little. In his mind, he tried to match up a picture of the cowering, carefree Feliciano as a child who'd actually managed to fend off Sadik. "He just doesn't like to fight, ever since Rome di- disappeared." Roderich's lips tightened at the slip, unwilling to actually mention that word. As nations, it was much harder for them to die, but it wasn't an uncommon thing. Still, it was a tragedy whenever it happened, and would most likely be remembered for a long, long time. "I'm sure if he needs to, he can defend himself."

"Or surrender," Ludwig interjected darkly, remembering all those times that Feliciano had raised the white flag whenever he wasn't around to help.

"That's his way of not fighting." Roderich corrected, "Give him some credit." But before Ludwig could reply, they were interrupted by the slamming of the door against the wall. Feliciano burst in happily, completely unaware of the tension-strung atmosphere. In his arms he carried a large stack of canvasses, some empty and some filled. On top of those he balanced a box of oil paints and a bundle of brushes.

"Germany! Look what I left behind!" The Italian said happily, raising the teetering stack.

"I'm always telling you to be more careful of your own things," Ludwig groaned, getting up from the couch. "Come on, we're going back. I'll drop you off at your place." Ignoring Elizaveta's curious stare, he relieved Feliciano of half his canvasses and carried them back to the Kubelwagen. The drive back was silent because Ludwig couldn't stop thinking about what Roderich had said. The words swam around in his heads like puzzle pieces that simply refused to fit together, and that alone annoyed him. His brows furrowed deeper and deeper as he drove, and the frustrated scowl grew so big that even Feliciano dared not to say a word. He simply didn't get it. What did Roderich mean? How in the world was Feliciano not a coward? He just couldn't understand. All his life, strength equalled to bravery, and those with the power to step up and take charge simply had to, because everyone else couldn't. There was no other alternative in his mind, and that was why the German struggled to comprehend what Roderich was trying to convey.

"Ve~ Thank you for the lift home, Germany!" Feliciano said as he clambered out of the Kubelwagen.

"You're welcome, Italy." Ludwig replied as he collected the Italian's things from the back and brought them up to the front door. "Training tomorrow starts at 8am sharp, don't be late." Actually, training started at nine, but he had learnt a long time ago that if he wanted Feliciano to show up the same time Kiku did, he would have to give him an earlier timing. Ludwig felt uncomfortable lying to Feliciano, but it had to be done.

"I won't!" Feliciano vowed, unlocking the door and retrieving his things from the German's arms. "I'll be there on time, don't worry Germany!"

"Well then, I'll be going now." Ludwig stepped back to close the door, but he was stopped by a small body flying out of the doorway and wrapping its arms around his torso in a tight hug. He sighed and draped his arms around Feliciano's body for a moment before stepping away from their usual goodbye hug. "Sleep soon." Then he made the long drive home.

In the end, Ludwig showed up at the training field at eight, despite knowing that he would have to wait at least an hour for his allies to arrive. Perhaps it was atonement for deceiving Feliciano, or maybe he just wanted some quiet time to himself. With his brother making a racket in his house, Ludwig couldn't concentrate enough to put two thoughts together in his head. Out here, where no one else was, he could finally concentrate on the matter that had kept him up half the night. Why would Ivan declare war? It was true that the man could be scary and slightly… cracked, he had been his usual self during the last few meetings and showed no signs of discontent. Had any of them inadvertently offended him? Or had something happened that finally pushed him over the edge? Either way, motives aside, if war really did break out, Ludwig was sure that he would be involved in it. What about Feliciano? What would he do? Ludwig wouldn't even entertain the notion of letting the Italian surrender to Ivan, and that was what would happen if Ludwig allowed him on the battlefield. He hated to think of it like this, but Feliciano was like the weak link in his chain- a chink in his armour. But was that truly a bad thing? Feliciano was more than just his ally, he was Ludwig's closest friend. And heavens help him, Ludwig would protect him till the very end. It didn't matter that Feliciano could only seem to drag him down, or that he was so incapable of taking care of himself, but there was something about the man that numbed the logical bit of him that knew Feliciano was nothing but a deadweight. Besides, he was a really, _really, _good cook.

"Germany-san."

The voice broke his train of thoughts, and Ludwig looked at the one who had spoken, then at his watch. "Japan,"Ludwig said, slightly surprised, "you're early. It's only 8.30."

"The roads were less congested than I thought they would be," Kiku explained, "and I'd like to properly apologise for missing the training exercise the other day."

"It's fine," Ludwig waved a hand dismissively, "you can't help being sick."

"No," Kiku insisted, "I should have taken better care of my health, knowing that we had a training exercise on that day." Ludwig shrugged and relented, knowing that they could keep this up all morning until Feliciano came, if they wanted to. "Have you heard about Russia-san?"

Ludwig nodded, "I have, Austriainformed me of it."

"When the time comes, I will fight by your side if need be." Kiku pledged, and the quiet determination that he said it with eased some of the turmoil within Ludwig. It would be nice to have back up on the battlefield, because even though he had faith in his own abilities, Kiku's skills were a force to be reckoned with as well. "But what of Italy-kun?"

"I'm thinking about that." He sighed, rubbing his crinkled brow with a hand. "I don't know what to do with him."

"I'm sure Prussia-san would look after Italy-kun if you asked." The Japanese man said benignly, "He seems rather fond of him."

"Please," Ludwig scoffed derisively, "as if I'd trust mein bruder with him. I'd be more worried than if I'd left Italy alone."

Kiku seemed to have a different point of view, "Prussia-san may be reckless, but he cares for Italy-kun and wouldn't knowingly put him into real danger." Ludwig frowned, seeing his friend's point, but that didn't ease his worry one bit. Perhaps, it would be fine to trust them for a change, but how could he ever be completely at ease? Yet, if he were to sit out of this war and Ivan (God help them) won, then it would be worse for Feliciano. Fighting alongside the others would give them a better chance of putting down the Russian than fighting alone. His mind was made; For Feliciano, he would fight, even if it meant leaving him behind for who knows how long.

Their training commenced promptly at 9.17am when Feliciano finally arrived, hastily spilling apologies as he tripped over his loose shoelaces. After Ludwig managed to calm him down and sort out those untied menaces, he immediately put them into unforgiving drills and exercises, more so than usual. Kiku remained stoic, taking whatever the German threw at him and throwing it back deftly, but it was a completely different story when it came to Feliciano.

"Germany! Can I take a sies-"

"Nein."

"Ve, Germany I'm really tired. Can I-"

"Nein."

"Germany! There's a pizzeria just down th-"

"Nein."

And finally, at 1.15, when the bright sun beat down unforgivingly on their sweat covered shoulders, Ludwig relented. "Fine! We can go inside for a short break, but we have to start again at 3, okay?"

"Thank you Germany!_" _Feliciano cheered, immediately perking up and running for Ludwig's house at an amazing speed. He was at the door in a matter of a minute, with an exasperated Ludwig and a secretly amused Kiku in his wake. When they caught up with him inside, they found Feliciano sprawled over the cool kitchen tiles, seemingly asleep.

"Italy¸ what the hell are you doing?" Ludwig demanded.

"I didn't want to get your couch sweaty, so I decided to take a siesta on the floor." Feliciano explained vapidly, not bothering to open his eyes or get up. "Besides, it's cold." The German sighed at his words and bent downwards to grasp him by the forearms, tugging him into a sitting position.

"And you'll get sweat on the floor at this rate." He said, straightening.

At this, Feliciano shot upwards and apologised, "I'm sorry, Germany."

Following that little incident, the three allies sat down at Ludwig's table, each with a cup of cold water and an empty plate. The German, knowing that Feliciano would have begged for a snack eventually, had the foresight to prepare some sandwiches and wurst that morning, and he laid them out on the table. The first few were quickly snatched up by Feliciano, while Kiku took his time and went through his usual routine of thanks. Once their bellies were all full, Ludwig sat up and cleared his throat. "Italy, I need to tell you something."

"What is it, Germany?" Italy asked, oblivious to the mood that had befallen on their little part of three.

Ludwig glanced down at his hands, then back at Feliciano's clueless face. This would be harder than he thought it would be, especially knowing what he did now. "I'm sure Romano's told you about the new problem with Russia." The sound of a small gasp forced the German to look at his friend, and he was shocked to see that tears were already pooling in those warm brown eyes. "Veneziano-"

"Y… You're leaving?" Feliciano stammered, "But I didn't think that you'd- I never thought that you would- Leaving?" His hands were trembling even though he had them clasped firmly on the table. The Italian's eyes were fixed onto Ludwig's, but as compelling that stare was, Ludwig knew that Feliciano was not seeing this for what it was. No, the smaller nation's mind had brought him back into the past. "No way…"

"Veneziano, listen to me." The German man pleaded, hoping that the more intimate use of his name would snap him out of it. The intent backfired in his face as the use of that name seemed to push Feliciano deeper into his memories. "It's only for a while, Italy. I'll be back before you can even blink."

"Don't go, Germany!" To his surprise, Feliciano flung himself from his chair and clung to Ludwig's shirt, burying his face in it. "Please, please don't go! Stay with me!"

"Veneziano, I have to go." The German murmured sadly, "Russia has to be stopped. Once he is, I'll come back."

The hands that gripped his clothes only tightened as Feliciano turned his pleading eyes towards Ludwig's, who couldn't help but feel guilty when he saw the streaks that the tears had left behind on his cheeks. It was for his own good, Ludwig thought, strengthening his resolve, he was doing this for Feliciano. "The last time," Feliciano choked out, "the last time someone said that to me, he never came back."


	5. Taking Sides

Chapter Four

"You bastard!"

Ludwig stared at the angry Italian on his porch, "Romano?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he was awoken in the middle of the night by a furious pounding on his door, he wasn't expecting to see the livid older brother of his ally there. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't act dumb, potato bastard, you know what I'm here for!" Lovino stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Ludwig's chest, staring down the German. "You made il mio fratellino cry!" Taking advantage of the larger man's slightly disorientated state, he continued on, "I got home from the jerk Spain's house, and what do I find? Feliciano crying on the couch, and he hasn't even stopped yet. That was a good hour ago!" Ludwig felt his heart constrict painfully at the thought that he was the one behind Feliciano's tears. After that conversation, and what Feliciano said, Ludwig excused himself to his study to get away from those broken brown eyes, leaving Kiku to oversee training for the rest of the day. He couldn't bear the thought of not coming back, of dying on the battlefield and leaving his friend alone, but yet, he had to.

Sighing, Ludwig said, "I'm sorry. I don't want to see him cry too, but you understand, right Romano? Some things have to be done to protect the ones we care about." His sky blue eyes met Romano's green ones, and in that brief moment a silent understanding passed between them. The Italian's eyes softened in reluctant understanding, and he backed away, looking down at the ground. Ludwig thought that it was the end of their discussion, but to his surprise, Romano continued.

"Then… you'll understand when I say that I need to fight as well." He stated, the determination in his eyes leaving no room for discussion. "I've already spoken with the jerk Spain about it."

"Spain's letting you fight?"

"He trusts my abilities." Romano retaliated, more than a little hurt. "I'm not that useless, you know? And neither is Feliciano. I'm not saying that you should let him onto the battlefield, but you should have more faith in him."

"I do," Ludwig said hastily, "I just don't want him to get hurt." What was with everyone these days? They never actually spent much time with Feliciano like he had, but they all acted so mysterious, saying things about Feliciano but not caring to elaborate.

At this, Romano laughed darkly, "A little too late for that, isn't it?" Sending Ludwig a dark look that cut off whatever he was going to say, he pivoted on his heel and strode off the porch and into a waiting car, leaving behind a very confused and annoyed German.

The meeting room, simple yet elegant, was located in one of the many skyscrapers that lined Shanghai's skyline. The building itself was a business hub and saw it's fair shares of international meetings and conferences, so no one blinked an eye when around noontime a rather large number of foreigners began to arrive one by one. They took a lift up to the very top of the building where they filed into a meeting room and sat down at a long, polished table. One man was already there, dressed formally in a suit. "You're finally here, aru." He greeted them impatiently and took a seat.

"Thanks for hosting us," Arthur said as he put a notebook on the table before him. "And on such short notice too." As he said it, the mood of the room grew noticeably sombre as the nations were all reminded of why they had been called here. It had been ages since they last faced the prospect of a large war such as this one, and none of them wished to again. Perhaps today, they might be able to come to a solution to deal with the problem at hand, although the chances of that happening was slim.

"Alright," Alfred spoke up from his spot at the front, "since we're all here, I, the hero, will start the meeting!"

"You would even if you weren't." Arthur grumbled.

Unsurprisingly, Francis was the one that shot him a rather dirty look. "Try to be serious here, England. It's a meeting of utmost importance _for grown-ups._" And even though there was nothing wrong with his words, it was the mocking lilt that he spoke it with that indicated he wasn't being as serious as befitting of the situation.

"Listen here you bloody frog-!" Slamming a hand on the table, he pointed an accusatory finger at Francis, but whatever he wanted to say in retaliation was cut off when Ludwig, knowing all too well where this was going, grabbed his outstretched arm and pushed it down. The Brit stared at him in shock mingled with confusion, because no matter how raucous the meetings got, Ludwig had never succumbed to using physical force to calm them down before. Those sitting around the table were looking at him in some surprise as well, and perhaps a hint of fear. There was something off about him today.

"Listen," Ludwig said, standing up and walking over to the whiteboard at the front of the room. "We're on the brink of a large scale war, and you're all acting like you normally do!" He was, to put it simply, pissed.

"It's just Russia we're up against," Alfred protested mildly, "no matter how powerful it is, we can take him down easily if it is I who is leading the counterattack!"

"It's not just Russia!" The German exclaimed impatiently, grabbing a marker. He strode over to the middle of the board and wrote: '**Russia**'. "You've forgotten his youngest sister," And beside it he drew an arrow and wrote '**Belarus**' at the end. A subdued wave of agreement rippled through all those who were present. Hell would freeze over before Ivan's younger sister would turn against him. "And we don't know if the Baltics will be forced to fight with them." Ludwig added '**Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia**' to the board and a question mark next to it.

"Poland wouldn't allow it," Arthur interjected.

"He's failed before," Ludwig countered, "so we can't be sure. I'd like to trust Estonia to be able to take care of himself, but like I said, it's better not to take chances."

Francis raised a hand, "What about Ukraine?"

"I don't think so, aru." Yao replied, "It's highly unlikely considering the relations that she has with us. Also, last I heard, her bosses forbid it, aru."

"So there we have it," Ludwig concluded, "the five of them against the rest of us."

"Question."

"Yes, Spain?"

The brown haired Spaniard stood up, "How many of us are there?" Seeing that Ludwig was about to speak, he quickly continued, "Some of the other countries might not want to take part in this."

Arthur coughed, "Bloody cowards."

Francis elbowed him and he shoved him back with a shoulder.

"Stop it, aru!" Yao cajoled, "Why not we take a break and have some sweets?"

"Not at this moment!" Ludwig yelled, exasperated. "Pay attention! Spain, please elaborate."

Nodding, Spain made his way around the table and took Ludwig's place at the front, clasping both hands behind his back. "In the past decades or so, we have grown a lot. Advanced technology and better communications- that kind of thing. My point is, many of our people see wars as a thing of the past, and they think that conflict can be settled by talking alone." Somebody snorted, probably Lovino, but he continued, "If we go to war, they won't be very happy. 'Why fight?' They'll ask, 'Why do you have to waste money and lives on war when you can talk it out?' As countries, I'm sure you all know that if we go against the wishes of our people, the end result won't be pretty."

"Oui," Francis chimed in, "the people are the sailors that keep us going. If the people do not want war, we are powerless against them."

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind," Alfred said too quickly, and Arthur reached over and smacked him from the back of his head. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

"Don't be so naïve." Arthur reprimanded. "We'll go back to our places and hold referendums then, and see how it turns out."

And with that the meeting was concluded, and everyone left to go their own ways. Wang Yao sat alone in the room, his back away from the window. Although many would describe him easily as one of the cheeriest nations there were, despite his past, now he felt like anything but. It was happening all over again, and even though the eldest country was used to it by now, he couldn't help but feel forlorn. War was never a good thing, and even though he wanted to talk it out with Ivan, he knew that this time it was unavoidable. But why? There had been no warnings, no signs, just a sudden and swift declaration of animosity. After having peace for so long, why would he just break it off? Didn't he always want friends? Why throw everything away? Yao sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers, and stood up, ready to leave. That was when he noticed a pair of glimmering brown eyes staring at him intently from the doorway. The Chinese took a second glance, "Italy Veneziano?"

"Ciao, China." He greeted nervously, fidgeting in his spot. Even though WWII was a long time ago, the smaller nation seemed to still be wary around him. "Can I ask you something?"

It took almost a month for everyone to settle on a course of action. In the end, after the referendums were held, the countries that would be standing against Russia and his allies were: America, England, France, China, Taiwan, Germany, Italy, Japan, and Spain. That gave them an advantage numerically, but it didn't seem to ease their worries completely. Now, all of the participating countries were meeting yet again to decide on whether to go on the offensive or the defensive when Yao walked into the room late, his hand clutching a crumpled envelope.

"What is it, China?" Kiku asked, looking up from a map. "You look… shaken."

"I got this in the mail today, aru." He pulled out the letter, but when everybody clamoured to look at it he said, "I'll read it out, sit down." When there was silence, the nation cleared his throat and read, "Dearest Yao, we had fun under the Soviet Union, didn't we? Let's play again! Your friend, Ivan."

"That bastard used your human name," Lovino breathed from the side of the room. The chair beside him was empty, as it had been at the last meeting. Both Ludwig and he agreed that since Feliciano wasn't taking part in the war anyway, he'd be in a better state of mind at home. "Do you realise what this means?"

"He's… how do I put this nicely?" Francis murmured, "He's cracked."  
"He cracked a long time ago, aru." Yao stated bluntly. "Only this time, he's forgotten his duties as a country. Russia- no, Ivan, isn't doing this for his people or for his home, he's not thinking about them right now. He's doing it for himself." The Chinese mans' gut constricted at his own words, the implications of the revelation sinking in. It wasn't very often that nations decided to forget about their people and do things on their own, but when they did the results were always terrible. He had known Ivan since the younger nation was barely up to his knees, and even though they had a rocky relationship since then, Yao still felt some sort of kinship for him from the time they spent under the Soviet Union. Even then, the boy was showing the first signs of madness, and Yao tried, he tried so hard to save him. In the end it wasn't enough, and after a long plateau of some form of stability it seemed that this was the point of inflexion where everything would begin to get worse.

"H-how?" England muttered, "The bloody git should know better than that!"

"Come on, it can't be that bad, right?" Alfred cried, "I'll just fix this and everything will go back to normal!" Heads swivelled one by one to stare at him, and for once in his life, he actually felt a little uncomfortable. This wasn't a world meeting that he was used to; a meeting where everyone seemed to agree with each other, a meeting where the countries actually got things done.

"America," Yao said stiffly, "what we're saying is that Russia might die."


	6. Into the Winter

**A/N: Okay, so apparently there was a bit of a problem with the last chapter. Terribly sorry about that! Also, a bit of a head's up, but I won't be posting as much because my national exams are in a couple of weeks time, and those last until mid-November. ;-;**

* * *

Chapter Five

A cold wind wrenched itself through the large camp that had been set up along the Sino-Russian border, forcing chills up the spines of the patrolling soldiers, many of whom were unused to such a hostile climate. This was a human camp, a short distance away from where the nations had settled. Hastily constructed shelters offered some protection from the bitter winter, but many still felt the cold in their bones. A white building, made by tacked metal sheets tacked together, bore a bright red cross and provided sanctuary to some hundred odd soldiers. Though the war had only been going on for a week, the fighting was intense and both sides suffered losses.

"Capello, I need more bandages here!" A man called out from the side of the medics' station, holding down a pack of cloth on a bullet wound. A large patch of dark red marred the white surface of the cloth, and it was spreading rapidly.

"Si, si!" A brown haired man quickly hurried over from the other side, a roll of bandages in hand. The uniform he wore was too big on him and hung limply off his slender shoulders, and a white armband denoted him as one of the volunteer medics on hand. No one really knew the story behind Angelo Capello, but he was an excellent at handling the wounds, despite his clumsiness, and that was more than enough for them. "Don't worry signore," He said cheerfully as he began to wind the bandage around the bullet wound, packing it heavily with gauze as well, "we'll give you some painkillers so that it won't hurt as much."

"Thank you," The soldier gasped, his English heavy with a Chinese accent, "I do not know how you can smile even in a time like this."

Feliciano tilted his head and flashed him a grin, "Ve, I figured that I'd smile while I still can. You should try it too! It does wonders for your mood." Hesitantly, the man forced his lips into a crooked smile, but the Italian could see it growing slightly more natural as the seconds ticked by. "So, do you feel better now?"

The man blinked, "Yes, I do. What is your name?"

"Angelo Capello at your service," He saluted with a wink, drawing a slight chuckle from his patient.

"I am Shi Xin, but my friends call me Xin."

Perhaps Feliciano might have continued on chatting with the young man, but a shout from another section drew his attention, and the Italian found himself rushing off to sew up another wound. _You are too young to be on the battlefield, Xin, _Feliciano thought sadly, _go home to your family, I'm sure they'd be really happy to see you. _He could only imagine what Ludwig would say if he overheard his thoughts. A soldiers' duty was to his country. That was what the German always believed, first and foremost, even before family and friends. How was Ludwig doing right now? Feliciano hadn't let himself go near the nations' camp, fearing that he would be recognised and forced to go home. All he knew that his best gauge of his friends' states were from the soldiers around him, and going by that, they weren't doing too well. _I wish I could do more, _Feliciano thought longingly, _I wish I could be with you guys. _

Just a few hundred meters away, Ludwig sat at a table with his phone in hand, wordlessly watching the screen. One word blinked frustratingly at him for a few more seconds before the line disconnected itself. "Gottverdammt, Veneziano!" The German swore under his breath, "Why won't you pick up?" He shut the device and shoved it back into his uniforms' pocket before rubbing his face with his hands. For the past week, he'd been trying to check up on Feliciano, but after the fourth day, the Italian simply stopped picking up. Was he mad at Ludwig? No, it wasn't like him to stay mad for so long. Ludwig couldn't help but feel worried for his friend back home. Was he doing okay? Had he hurt himself? Could he tie his own bootlaces?

His thoughts were interrupted by frantic shouting coming from the encampment, and he ran outside to see what was going on. His eyes widened as he saw Yi Ling stumbling back into camp, bloodied and bruised. Yao was the first one at her side, supporting her and helping her over to the nearest chair where she could rest. "What happened, aru? Are you alright?"

"It was a surprise attack," Yi Ling gasped, clutching Yao's arm to stay upright, "Belarus and Russia, both of them."

"Why didn't you call for help?" Yao demanded.

"I… I tried to." The younger nation lowered her head, and from where he stood, Ludwig could see the faint glimmer of a tear slip down her dirtied cheek. "It was all so fast, I was so scared. I didn't- I couldn't-"

Something crossed Yao's face, and his expression softened as he drew her in for a hug, whispering something soothing in Chinese as he stroked her hair. They stayed like this for a while, and though all the activity had drawn the attention of the other nations, none of them could bring themselves to intrude. It was all too clear on Yao's face that he was beating himself up for not knowing that Yi Ling was in danger, that he wasn't there to stop her from getting hurt. "_It's okay," _Murmuring softly in Chinese, Yao drew back, "_We'll have you fixed up, and this won't happen again." _

"I've brought a medic from the other side," Alfred called, running back. He was closely followed by a small man who had an oversized cap on his head and a first aid kit tucked under his arms. He kept his head bowed low, possibly out of fear or respect. "They said that he was the best."

"I'll need to give her stitches," He spoke up, with a voice surprisingly gruff from someone his size. "In private, no?" Ludwig watched as they were led towards her tent, and he turned back around to face the other countries.

"A surprise attack," He muttered, frowning, "Scheiße, they're moving faster than we thought they were." And together, as well? They would have to step up patrol, and possibly do it in doubles as well. Maybe triples? But everyone was already spread thin from doing daily patrols on top of the planning and the actual fighting. To add more burden onto their shoulders was asking too much. However, Ludwig reminded himself that he wasn't dealing with his human subordinates here, that they were all countries. And as countries they had the physical capability to withstand more than an average human. "We'll have to increase the patrol size and frequency then. China, you know this land the best. Where should we increase patrols?"

"The Northern side of the camp, aru." Yao replied without hesitation, his attention snapping away from his sister and towards the matter at hand. "That's the only place that we've yet to barricade."

"I'll send orders to the armies as well, then." Ludwig nodded and backed away, barking rapid fire directions in German into the walkie talkie that he had clipped on his belt. Yao watched his retreating back for a while before hurrying to the tent that Yi Ling was in, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"- Veneziano?" Yi Ling had his cap in one hand, blatantly disregarding the blood that was dripping from the nasty cut running diagonally down his arm. She stared at him in some surprise and disbelief, whilst Feliciano could only be described as frozen. Yao sighed, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the countries started uncovering the nations' presence. The question was, who would be the first ones to know? He was already aware of the younger Italians' deception, since he was the one that had counselled him into this.

That day, after the world meeting, Feliciano found him in the vacated room. "Veneziano?" Yao asked, "Take a seat and tell me what you need, aru."

Feliciano wrung his hands fretfully as he shut the door behind him, sliding into one of the shiny leather chairs that surrounded the table. "I don't want this war to happen!" He burst out, looking at Yao as if the elder nation could simply fix everything with a wave of his hand. Looking at the childlike man, the Chinese could only feel what seemed to be pity.

"It's not like I can do anything about this, aru." Yao sighed, leaning against the table, "I don't want to fight either, but Russia leaves us all with no choice."

"But everyone's leaving! Mio fratellone, Germany, and Japan! I don't want to be away from them." Feliciano admitted, staring at his lap. "I want to go too. I- I know that I won't be much of a help, but I can cook meals! I can help with the injuries! Only, Germany won't let me go."

"I understand why, aru." Yao said, "I didn't want to let Taiwan get involved, but she insisted. Sometimes you just have to let them grow up the hard way, aru." He shook himself, as if remembering that he was no longer in the past, but rather here. "Germany just can't see that you've had your share, can he, aru?" At his words, Feliciano perked up hopefully, holding his breath. "We're stationing ourselves at the Northern borders. I didn't tell you that, aru."

"Ve, thank you China!"

And that was how Feliciano had the bright idea to sneak into the camp, although Yao hadn't counted on him to actually hide away at the humans' side. The elder nation had assumed that Veneziano simply gave up when he didn't see him around their camp, and left it at that, but he should have known the younger Italian to be much more persistent than that.

"—I'm sorry," Yi Ling was saying as Feliciano stitched up her cut. It wasn't that bad, but a precaution such as this would ensure that it didn't get infected.

"Sorry for what, aru?" Yao asked.

"I lost." The girl had her face turned away, like she was ashamed of having been defeated, of being weak. "I should've fought harder, maybe if I did-"

Yao's voice was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, "You'd still have lost. Taiwan, there were two of them, and both of them are strong." He had moved over to sit in front of the younger nation, and used a hand to tilt her chin upwards so that she would meet his gaze. Yao's unwavering brown eyes held hers, but they weren't angry nor disappointed. They were proud. Understanding dawned in hers, and she managed a shaky smile. "You're strong too, but you couldn't have won. Not alone. You may have lost the battle but you can-"

"-still win the war." She finished, "You've taught me that so many times, _laoshi_."

"You haven't called me that for at least a century," Yao shook his head, slightly amused, "so it takes a war for you children to finally respect me again, aru." Yi Ling laughed and rolled her eyes, and eventually the Chinese gave in and started laughing as well. They seemed to have forgotten about Feliciano, who stood by the side watching them. His eyes were slightly damp; they looked so happy and intimate, sharing that kind of close bond that only siblings could have. Why couldn't he and Lovino be like this as well? Yao trusted Yi Ling after all her failures, but with Lovino it was always, "Stupid Veneziano, can't you get anything right?" No, but Lovino didn't really mean it, did he? They fought the Unification Wars together, and through it all they still held each other's backs.

"Uh- China, I'll be going now if you don't need me anymore." Feliciano said, inching away. He didn't want to disturb them, but it looked like they were ready to go as well.

"Thank you, Veneziano." Yi Ling said, smiling.

"Take care, and don't let Germany see you on the way out."

The russet haired nation slipped his cap on and waved to them before slipping outside back into the freezing cold. He turned around-

And came face to face with Kiku.

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Also, _Lao Shi, _or 老师, is the Chinese term for Teacher.


	7. Behind The Facade

**A/N: I haven't posted in ages, I'm sorry! Anyway, my exams are over so I should be able to update more frequently now. /coughs. Anyway, I've realised that I started this fic out with the main focus being Gerita, but I think over the course of writing, it's expanded to become more of a story in itself. Oops. Hope you don't mind. **

* * *

Chapter Six

The Japanese man looked slightly startled, but didn't seem that fazed as he stepped back to allow Feliciano passage, "_Gomenasai, _I should have looked where I was going." He apologised, not recognizing the Italian in the dim lighting.

"It's okay!" Feliciano replied hastily, keeping his voice low. His heartbeat accelerated as he walked past his ally, and let go of the breath that he hadn't even realised that he was holding. It was apparent that he had not be found out, although the man wasn't sure if he was pleased or not. The wind blew harder, bringing with it a fresh wave of snow. Soon, his footprints would be gone from the ground, and it'd be like he was never there at all. Even the human encampment was barely visible from here, with the light shining dully through the blurry conditions. Hurrying towards it before the gale grew any stronger, he tucked his freezing hands into his coat pockets. Feliciano suddenly felt lonely, very lonely indeed. It wasn't because he was isolated in this storm, but the fact that his friends were just a hundred meters or so away, and he couldn't talk to them.

And it was cold, too. Feliciano remembered once when they were fighting together in another war, a long time ago, it had been this chilly as well. He wanted to give up, to wave that little white flag of his and pull away, but Ludwig hadn't let him. The German took away his flag and set him back on his feet, driving the exhausted nation on with just the force of his words. His legs had been shaking, trembling, and only the sight of those stern blue eyes managed to keep him upright. "Germany," Feliciano whispered, the wind snatching away his words as soon as they left his mouth, "what would you say to me now?"

A day passed after that, and another week. When some people spoke of war, they spoke of never ending battles, of a chaos that got their blood pumping as fast as their machine guns. But that couldn't have been further from the truth. Those discordant moments of bloody fighting were only bits and pieces of the whole war; reprises from sitting and waiting, wondering where the enemy would strike next. Whenever skirmishes happened, they were far from camp, and the only indication they happened were the numerous wounded that were brought back in trucks, and the still bodies that followed after. In this long war, both sides suffered heavy casualties, and they were getting nowhere. Everyone knew it- they weren't stupid. This game was between the big players, and when the stakes were high like that, they were nothing but pawns- collateral losses.

"What's the point of all this?"

Feliciano looked up from rolling up some bandages and at Shi Xin, who was helping out in the first aid stations until he was fit to go back out on the field. "Ve, come again? I didn't catch you the first time."

"What's the point?" The Chinese man repeated, "Even if we win someone will be unhappy. Every man I killed out there was someone else's brother, son or father."

"Shi Xin…" The Italian frowned slightly, looking away. He didn't like war too, but it wasn't as if he could avoid them. As a nation, he'd had his own fair share of unavoidable disputes, and when he looked back at them, he couldn't bring himself to feel much pride. And yet, Feliciano told himself that they could have been worse, that so many more would have died if he'd continued fighting. "I wonder about that too. What makes people so angry that they won't listen to words?"

"I don't even know for sure why we're having this war," The man's hands jerkily wound up a strip of linen as he continued ranting, "and I don't understand why the leaders of the countries can't just talk it out like they always do? People have died! Hundreds! Thousands!" His shouting was beginning to attract attention now, but no matter how much Veneziano pleaded for him to lower his volume, Shi Xin was too angry to care or notice. "To them, we're nothing! We don't mean anything! What's the life of a couple of soldiers when you want to prove that you're the top of the food chain? I mean, they obviously don't respect us enough to tell us what we're fighting for!"

Feliciano glanced around nervously at those who were listening in, frightened by the unhappy looks on their faces. Some of them were nodding in agreement, and many more had begun muttering their own opinions as well. It had been a while since he commanded an army, but the Italian knew the beginnings of mutiny when he saw it. "Ve, please, calm down everyone." He pleaded, raising his voice a little to be heard. "I'm know you're angry, but the injured are resting. You don't want to disturb them, si?" The muttering died down a little, though it would do little to quell the soldiers' resentment. They liked Angelo Capello, the Italian medic who always had a smile and nice words for anyone who needed them, and it was impossible to completely ignore his entreaty. Feliciano sighed in relief, but he couldn't help uneasy; the pot had been saved from boiling over, but the water was still simmering inside.

Over in the other camp, things weren't going too smoothly as well. The nations had called another meeting to discuss their strategy to try and alleviate their losses, but as usual, nothing much came out of it. The only thing that it seemed to accomplish was to darken everybody's spirit and plant a lingering seed of discontent within them. So it was understandable that when one of their officers announced the arrival of a visitor, each of them pushed away from the table with too much eagerness. To their surprise, it was someone that they hadn't expected at all.

Katyusha stood at the entrance to their meeting room, feeling a little out of place despite having fairly good relations with most of them. Her coat was slightly skewed to the side, and the buttons hadn't been done up properly, so it was rather obvious that she had come in a rush. She regarded them a little hesitantly but gathered what confidence she had around herself like a cloak as she said, "Please, I need to say something." Despite many disagreements in the past, this one decision was made in a flash of an eye, with everyone nodding consent. A most disconcerting sight indeed. "It's not what you think it is," Katyusha began, clasping her hands nervously in front of herself, "I know it looks really bad, but Russia's intentions are not what they seem to be." There was some murmuring at this, but they let her continue. "I have watched him grow up; he has known little kindness or friendship as a child, and I think that's why he is the way he is now."

"What do you mean? I'm confused." Alfred piped up, only to earn an elbow jab from Arthur who sat beside him.

"Have some bloody manners and don't interrupt her," He hissed, ignoring the fact that he was doing the exact same thing. "Sorry about that. Do continue."

Katyusha looked slightly confused and mildly stunned by the exchange, but she pressed on at the Englishman's insistence. "He grew up alone most of the time, so he doesn't know what it is like to have fr- no, how to express his affection. All he knew was that those around him kept trying to take his lands by force. I tried to help him, but I wasn't able to guide him as much as I would have liked to because of… reasons." At that point, the woman fidgeted slightly, her guilt and regret evident in her eyes. Everyone knew why, though they were too tactful to say anything about it at this point. Her boss wanted her to form stronger ties to the European countries, and wanted her to have nothing more to do with Ivan, so she was forced to turn away from him as well, leaving him more alone that he already was. "I think he might have felt better when you were all in alliances, during the wars and such, but inside he's still lonely and a little confused. Don't you see? Because of his childhood, he doesn't know kindness, he doesn't know friendship, but he does want those things because don't we all? He only knows war and hardship, so it is only through those that expresses he desire for companionship. I beg of you, when this whole thing comes to an end, remember that underneath all that he seems to be, Russia is just a scared, lonely little boy."

Following her impassioned entreaty, of all the countries present, none could say a single word.

The meeting broke up soon after that. They offered Katyusha a place to stay, but she declined and soon left after, not wanting to linger on the battlefield any more than what was necessary. Yao excused himself from dinner, and wandered near the fringes of the camp. He had had his suspicions for a long time, and what Katyusha said only served to confirm them. The Chinese thought back to their old alliances, to the time they spent together under the Soviet Union, and wondered if things would be different if he had been kinder to Ivan then. Isolation and loneliness was inevitable at some point, especially since they were countries, but the pain of those were often washed away in the company of others. "Aiya," Yao sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly. "Kids these days."

"What about us?" Yi Ling spoke up from behind him. She offered her old teacher a small smile as she fell into step beside him. "I've been thinking, from what Ukraine says, Russia only acts this way because of the way he grew up, right? Then what about you? You grew up alone too. Why aren't you like him?" She stared questioningly at Yao, whose smile had faded in the course of her words.

"That's different." He murmured, looking away from her. "I was alone for a very long time, because all the other countries were so far away. Ancient Greece, the Roman Empire, I didn't get to see them very much. I was alone like Ivan, yes, but I didn't have people attacking me all the time." In fact, most of his troubles back then only came from within, with all the small groups of people warring for power. "I was alone, and it was okay because I never knew anything else."

"Oh." Was all Yi Ling could seem to say, "That's sad."

Yao fixed her with an unreadable expression, "Is it?" But just as it came, it was gone. "Anyway, it's getting really cold, aru. Let's head back to camp and see if there's any more food left!"

And so they did.


End file.
